


Electricity

by Harlequinade13



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Demons, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Isolation, M/M, Magic, Manipulation, Violence, human!bill cipher, one-sided WenDip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 00:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5270456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harlequinade13/pseuds/Harlequinade13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dipper’s skin tingled with that unidentifiable feeling again, body thrumming with it after so much physical contact with Bill. He felt himself as inexplicably drawn to it as he was repelled by it and this feeling, at least, was something he understood, as familiar and frightening as the woods of Gravity Falls. </p><p>One-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Electricity

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place between seasons one and two.
> 
> Thanks to [Mishka_kitty](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mishka_kitty/pseuds/Mishka_kitty) and Tasha for betaing.

Dipper followed Wendy and Mabel into the Mystery Shack, sighing and kicking the door shut behind him, his hat hanging loosely in his hand.

  
“Still want a Splintercat of your own, Mabel?” he asked his sister, who looked up from examining a cut on her arm and shuddered visibly.

“I’m beginning to rethink that,” she admitted, and then brightened. “But I still think it could use a hug or something.”

  
“Or maybe some meds or something,” Wendy corrected from where she’d collapsed into a chair. “That thing must have, like, a splitting headache from bashing into trees all the time.” She bent to roll up the right leg of her jeans, scrutinizing a quickly forming bruise on her calf. Dipper tried not to notice how her long hair fell over her shoulder, or the cute way her nose scrunched in distaste. “My bruises have bruises, man!”

  
Mabel laughed and went into the kitchen to get the first aid kit, leaving Dipper alone with Wendy.

  
Dipper leaned his head back against the door, and when he spoke, he addressed the ceiling rather than the girl beside him. “You ok? Aside from the bruises, I mean.”

  
“Yeah, I’m good,” she said pleasantly. “Mabel will get us patched up.” Her voice turned sympathetic. “How’s your nose? Think you need to go to the hospital?”

  
Dipper closed his eyes. “It’s not broken,” he said tersely. It hurt like hell but it wasn’t broken.

  
“You sure, dude?”

  
“Yeah.” Dipper frowned. _I know what a broken nose feels like, Wendy_. “It stopped bleeding.”

  
“Alright, guys!” Mabel called as she appeared in the doorway. “For minor injuries, you get a choice between ponies and Sev’ral Timez. I don’t have anything fun for more serious stuff though . . .” Dipper opened his eyes and glanced at his sister to see her watching him worriedly.

  
“It’s cool, Mabel,” Wendy said. “I’ll take a Sev’ral Timez band-aid, please.”

  
Mabel bit her lip, assessing the blood on his face. “Dippin’ Dot?”

  
Dipper smiled wanly, though the action hurt his nose. “Ponies. Definitely.”

  
Mabel sighed and tossed Wendy the box of band-aids before taking a wet cloth to Dipper’s face. He started to protest, but decided he wasn’t going to win that fight, and winced as she dabbed blood from his upper lip. Doubtless he’d look terrible for the next few weeks. _Stupid Splintercat_.

A few minutes passed in silence. Dipper allowed his eyes to fall shut against a headache while Mabel cleaned his face and pressed an ice pack to his nose, instructing him to hold it there until she said he could take it off. She’d wrapped it in a wash cloth, and the ice pack felt good on his bruised face.

  
“Thanks, Mabes.”

  
Mabel placed a band-aid over a cut on his forearm. “No problem, bro-bro.”

  
“I’m done,” Wendy announced. Dipper cracked an eye open as she stood from her chair. She had three band-aids that he could see, one of which covered a cut on the right side of her face. She caught Dipper’s gaze and smiled. “I’m gonna go wash up before my shift.”

  
“Cool,” Mabel called as Wendy made her way toward the bathroom. “See you then.”

  
Dipper frowned and lowered the ice pack to look at his sister, who was applying antibiotic to an abrasion on his ankle, which, he was embarrassed to admit, he’d sustained only because he’d tripped over a tree branch. “Hey, _I'm_ supposed to work today.”

  
Mabel looked up at him and frowned in disapproval. The expression looked wrong on her face. “Keep the ice on there, Dippingsauce,” she commanded gently. Dipper complied and Mabel returned to her task, appeased, and began to gather the paper from the band-aids. “I’ll take over for you today. You’re in no condition to work. Grunkle Stan will understand.”

  
Dipper sighed. He could hear Grunkle Stan talking to Wendy in the gift shop.

  
“Cheer up, bro,” Mabel urged, a knowing smile on her face as she applied a Sev’ral Timez band-aid to the cut on her arm. She put a pony band-aid on top of that one, forming an X. “You got to hang out with her all morning.”

Dipper felt his cheeks burn. “Don’t use all those band-aids if you don’t need them,” he mumbled, and thought he heard Mabel sigh as he ducked his head and hurried toward the stairs, only to be cut off by Grunkle Stan.

  
“Hot Belgian waffles, Dipper— what the hell happened to your face?”

  
“Uh . . .” Dipper stared dumbly at his uncle. He looked to Wendy where she leant against the doorframe; she offered him a shrug. Mabel was probably covered in band-aids by now.

  
“Grunkle Stan,” Dipper said firmly. “Wendy, Mabel, and I went out to investigate a Splintercat last night. It’s a feline-type creature that destroys trees by ramming into them with its head. I guess it didn’t like us following it, because it turned around and started hitting trees around us.” He lifted one arm to indicate their current state. “I got hit by a falling branch and hurt my nose. But it’s not broken or anything.”

  
His uncle was silent for a moment, and Dipper allowed himself to hope briefly, fruitlessly, before Stan reached up to ruffle Dipper’s hair, ignoring his nephew’s look of annoyance. “You’re real creative, kid. I came up with more believable excuses at your age.” He shook his head. “Splintercats.” Stan dropped his hand, and took in the state of the others, mumbling, “Nah, I don’t even want to know.”

  
“But Grunkle Stan, it’s true!” Dipper protested, though he’d thought himself beyond trying to convince his uncle of the supernatural at this point.

  
Stan laughed. “Yeah, well. Mabel can take your shift today. Your face will scare away my customers. More than usual.” Stan left then, presumably to start the first tour, muttering something about ‘getting too old for this.’

  
“Why don’t you go get some rest, Dipper,” Wendy suggested. “And hey, next time you want to go hunting for lumberjack legends at three in the morning, I’m your girl.” She smiled brilliantly at him, and he returned the expression with some effort. Wendy turned to follow Grunkle Stan into the gift shop, calling over her shoulder, “Just try not to let a tree whack you in the face next time!”

  
“Uh, right. Next time,” Dipper said lamely, though he wasn’t sure if she’d heard.

  
Forgoing breakfast, Dipper made his way up the stairs, his hat back on and pulled low over his eyes, and settled into his usual spot by the attic window. He felt somewhat better now that he was alone. As much as he’d wanted the chance to hang out with Wendy, being around her could be as mentally exhausting as it was fun. The same could be said for his well-meaning sister. And he’d spent half the night traipsing through the woods with both of them, laughter and shadow puppets eventually escalating into a chase after a silver cat-like creature, who put up with them for a full hour before deciding to chase after them instead. The Splintercat was marginally less interesting when it targeted humans. The trio stumbled out of the woods sometime later, ears ringing, battered and a bit bloody but still whole, and minus one flashlight, though by then the sky was considerably lighter. Wendy clutched the hand-axe at her hip like a lifeline and looked over at Dipper as they struggled to breathe normally again, her smile a relieved, exhilarated thing that made Dipper’s chest ache with longing.

  
Dipper pulled out the journal and a pen. He flipped idly through the pages until he came across his own entries. He wrote down the details of his encounter with the journal propped up on his knees, explaining how the creature decided to target them even after tolerating their presence for some time. Dipper couldn’t help but wonder how they’d managed to get away at all if the Spintercat was so keen on chasing them. He theorized, though he did not mention it to Mabel or Wendy, that the creature could have mistaken them for a potential mate. Or was simply toying with them. The thought made him sigh, and he closed the journal in favor of chewing absently on his pen, blank gaze trained on the window.

  
It wasn’t surprising when his eyelids began to droop, and Dipper had the presence of mind to discard the ice pack onto the floor before surrendering to sleep. Rather than slip peacefully into darkness, Dipper found himself in the Mindscape, the world around him a telltale grey emptiness that stretched on forever. There was more of the same beneath his shoes, though where he stood felt very much like solid ground. Curiously enough, his nose no longer pained him.

  
“Fancy running into you here,” a voice called, sudden, from everywhere and nowhere at once. It was familiar.

  
Dipper pivoted, searching the space around him with narrowed eyes. “Where are you, Bill?”

  
“Patience is a virtue, Pine Tree,” Bill’s voice replied. “Then again, what would I know about virtue?” Bill laughed. Or at least it seemed like laughter to Dipper, though the sound reverberated through the Mindscape, through his whole body, a tangible sensation that caused him to screw his eyes shut in pain. White light erupted before his closed eyelids and then faded a second later, the pain along with it. The atmosphere felt heavier somehow and Dipper could taste the barest hint of something he could only describe as electricity.

  
Dipper opened his eyes, wary, but otherwise unharmed. He spotted Bill immediately, hovering a few feet away.

  
“You look . . . different,” he observed.

  
The demon smiled at him, all teeth. For he did possess a mouth just then, and an entirely new form along with it. He looked human. There was certainly an ‘off’ quality about him, perhaps some warning Dipper processed on a visceral level, but he looked decidedly more human than Dipper could ever remember seeing him. He appeared as a man in his twenties. His signature bow tie and top hat, floating a good few inches above his head, left little doubt that this was, indeed, Bill. The rest of his attire was just as fine and equally suited to him: black long trousers; leather riding boots; a white, button-down dress shirt with sleeves pushed up at the elbows; and a tailcoat the same yellow color of his usual form. His skin looked real as anything else, pale but almost warm in appearance as if backlit by early summer sunlight. He was taller than Dipper, lithe, and slim, though Dipper could see the flex of lean muscle in bare forearms.

  
Bright gold eyes peered at Dipper through a mess of wavy blonde bangs. Bill swept them aside with a gloved hand though they fell back into his eyes anyway. “You like?” he asked. He licked his lips, assessing Dipper for a reaction. “It’s a good different, though, isn’t it, Pine Tree?” Bill spun about as if to give him the full effect. “Humans tend to like this guise. More . . . _palatable_ , am I right?”

  
Dipper could only stare for a moment, then sniffed derisively and averted his gaze. “You look like you belong in some old movie. A horror movie. A really bad one.”

  
“Ha ha! You’re cute, Pine Tree.”

  
“Shut up,” Dipper snapped and looked up to glare at Bill. “What do you want from me?”

  
The demon assumed a surprised expression, though his eyes glowed faintly blue. “Why, you wound me, kid! I just want to talk, is all.”

Dipper didn’t see him move until Bill was suddenly _very_ close to his face, and he flinched violently despite himself. Bill hovered so he was just above eye-level, his legs bent at the knees, and Dipper had to look up to see his face. “What?” Bill asked lowly, his voice managing to sound simultaneously earnest and teasing. “Don’t believe me?”

  
Dipper could sense that unknown element in the air again, could smell and taste it on the back of his tongue, feel it like something tangible on his skin. It reminded him vaguely of oncoming storms, heated, charged, and with a component he somehow understood was . . . sentient. Dipper shook his head to clear it and scowled up at the demon floating a mere few inches away.

  
“Forgive me if you don’t exactly inspire confidence,” he said.

  
Bill’s eyes flickered to red briefly before settling on gold. “And why is that?”

  
“You worked with a complete psychopath! You almost destroyed my uncle’s mind, not to mention nearly killed me and people I care about.”

  
Bill tilted his head, his face splitting into a grin that made Dipper’s stomach churn. “Yeah?”

  
Dipper opened his mouth, then closed it to grind his teeth against instinctive anger. He inhaled slowly through his nose, refusing to let Bill get under his skin. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, level. “You’re a demon.”

“Yes.”

  
“So you’re sadistic and evil by nature.”

  
Bill moved back a little, only to flit to Dipper’s side, and then behind him, circling. Dipper tensed but kept still through a mix of fear and stubborn resolve. “I don’t know, kid. Some people find me quite pleasant. Charming, even. _Generous_.”

  
Dipper tracked Bill with his eyes until he could no longer see him. “Then they don’t know you.”

  
“These are some pretty heavy accusations coming from a human who knows nothing about demonkind.”

  
Dipper thought back to the stack of books by his bed, the pages of the journal with a sketch of Bill and warnings against trusting him, where blood stained the pages as much as ink. “I do my research.”

  
“Do you, now?”

  
“And I refuse to be swayed by anything you have to say!” Dipper’s fingers flexed at his sides. Bill was behind him now but he refused to turn around; doing so would be perceived as weakness.

  
“Oh? Pine Tree reads a few inaccurate books on demonology and he’s got it all figured out? Arrogance is a good look for you, kid.”

  
“Inaccurate—? Shut up!”

  
Dipper blinked to find the demon in front of him again, eyes a muted red that made him think of dried blood. His hands clenched into fists, skin bone-white at the knuckles and aching to hit something.

  
Bill’s lips curved upward, revealed the tips of fangs Dipper couldn’t remember seeing before. “You know, that’s a good idea.”

  
Dipper swallowed. “Wha—”

  
“ _Quiet_.” Bill snapped his fingers and Dipper immediately felt his throat tighten. “Much better,” Bill went on, putting a little more distance between them and settling his arms behind his head. “Now, I’d love to hear more about your scorn for demonkind but I think it’d be neat if you let me talk for a bit like I said I would, and you listen like a _good boy_.”

  
Dipper nodded weakly. His throat worked against the pressure constricting it. _Weaknesses_ , he thought, willing his heartbeat to slow. _None. No wait— anointed objects. Water. Salt._

  
“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Bill said, his tone light.

  
Dipper wasn’t listening, his eyes shut in concentration. _Blessed knives. Could I summon one here? Would I be able to use it?_

  
“None of that will work on me. Especially not here.”

  
Dipper’s eyes flew open and, without thinking, he attempted to speak; the abrupt increase of pressure on his trachea left him gasping. His hands flew up to his throat to tear away whatever was all but choking him, though he found only bare skin.

  
“I mean, you might do okay against a lesser demon,” Bill continued as Dipper’s vision began to blacken at the edges. “But only just. You’re pretty impressive, but not _that_ impressive.” Bill raised a hand to tap his index finger lightly against Dipper’s temple. “Now, pay attention.”

  
The pressure abated somewhat and Dipper could breathe normally again. His head swam with the rush of oxygen.

  
“I have a deal for you, Pine Tree,” Bill said solicitously.

  
Dipper leveled the demon with a glare he hoped conveyed exactly what he thought of that.

  
“That looks like apprehension. I know an apprehensive face when I see one. But don’t be so closed-minded, kid! I have something you want, you have something I want, so let’s be friends!” He resumed that circling thing again, watching Dipper with appraising eyes. Dipper straightened his spine, felt his palms burn where his nails carved into them. “There’s a lot I can offer you,” Bill was saying. “I can make you taller! Maybe fix a bit of that introversion and anxiety you have going on. Ensure you the affections of that pretty redhead. Oh, but I know what you really want!” Dipper shook his head wildly, overcome with the frustration of being unable to speak even as Bill taunted him.

  
Dipper started at the sound of Bill’s voice in his ear, struggling to compose himself even as Bill’s voice morphed into a mockery of his own, sounding very much like Dipper if not for the ethereal echo behind his words. “The author! I need to find the author!” Bill laughed, though Dipper’s attention was drawn to the image of a six-fingered hand hovering before him, shining a bright, electric-blue that washed out his features, and in Dipper’s periphery, the demon’s eyes glowed the same hue.

  
“You know,” Bill said, sounding like himself once more. “I could tell you all about him. I could answer every question you ever had. I’d only want a small favor in return.”

  
Bill darted in front of him again, the blue hand dissipating like smoke behind him, and Dipper had a fleeting thought that he’d never get used to the demon’s unnatural speed or lack of personal space. “You have such _potential_ , Pine Tree!” Bill said excitedly. “More than I’ve seen in about thirty years, maybe longer. That’s kind of a long time to be bored, even for a demon. I can give you everything: knowledge, power, the works! All you have to do is make a deal with me.”

  
Bill extended his hand.

  
His eyes were gold again, but there was something wild there, something purely manic and inhuman and decidedly untouchable.

  
“So what do you say, Pine Tree?” the demon asked, his hand erupting in blue flame that emitted no heat. “Deal?”

  
Dipper opened his mouth and found he could speak again. He didn’t have to consider his response for very long. “Screw you, man.”

  
Bill’s eyes darkened, and when he smiled it made Dipper want to throw up. “Business before pleasure, kid.”

  
And then Bill’s arm was around his waist, vice-like and bruising, lifting him easily. Bill used his other hand to grasp Dipper’s own, intertwining their fingers, and then suddenly they were moving. They rose into the air at a dizzying speed. Bill’s laughter rang in Dipper’s ears, his own scream locked in his throat.

  
The temperature seemed to plummet around them, icy wind ripping at Dipper’s clothes, sending his hat flying who-knew-where. He felt the sickening pull of gravity and there was a feeling of rising higher and higher though Dipper could see no ground to speak of beneath his dangling shoes. He squeezed Bill’s gloved hand hard enough to hurt, and clutched madly at the demon’s coat with the other, numb fingers digging into the fabric of his lapels. Bill simply released his hold on Dipper’s hand in favor of trapping Dipper’s face in both of his, the skin so fever-hot it made Dipper shudder. He felt Bill’s palms against his face, long fingers tangling in his hair. The pressure weighing him down abated suddenly and they were suspended together in the nothingness that was the Mindscape, Bill holding Dipper up by his face.

  
“B-Bill, please!” Dipper gasped, some primal part of him overriding his pride even as he cringed internally at how his voice trembled.

  
The demon made a soft humming noise in acknowledgment and bent his head low to trail his lips just beneath Dipper’s right eye, pulled back to stare at him with eyes half-lidded and mouth shining wet with Dipper’s tears.

  
Dipper’s skin tingled with that unidentifiable feeling again, body thrumming with it after so much physical contact with Bill. He felt himself as inexplicably drawn to it as he was repelled by it and this feeling, at least, was something he understood, as familiar and frightening as the woods of Gravity Falls.

  
“I don’t—” Dipper swallowed. “I _don’t_ want to make a deal with you, Bill. So if you’re going to kill me, you’d better get it over with. Because there’s nothing— _there’s nothing I want that badly_!”

  
“Yeah, I hear you, kid,” Bill murmured, though he seemed more interested in tracing Dipper’s cheekbone with his thumb.

  
“Bill, I swear, I’ll—”

  
“You don’t have to take my offer this time,” Bill said as if Dipper hadn’t spoken, his eyes slipping closed, voice pensive as if on the verge of revelation. “No . . . No, I told you I wanted to talk, and I meant it. I’ll see you again— a few times, in fact— and I look forward to that.” Bill’s eyes opened again with a new intensity. “You’ll get desperate enough real soon, kid, and I’ll be there. Right when you need me.”

  
“You’ll be waiting a long time, then,” Dipper spat. Around them, the Mindscape trembled, ripples disrupting the grey.

  
Bill glanced around briefly, unconcerned. “Looks like you’re waking up.”

  
Dipper felt some of the tension drain from his body. It left him tired. “Good,” he sighed.

  
“Remember what I said about that potential, Pine Tree,” Bill reminded him, and leaned down again to whisper and the words were barely audible beneath the rush of blood in Dipper’s head, the distinct click of sharp teeth near his ear: “I’ll be watching. Call me when you’re ready to make a deal.”

  
One of Bill’s hands fell from his face only to return again to slap him with one deft movement, the power behind it causing Dipper’s head to jerk sideways, pain blooming in his skull and the ache returning to his nose in full force. He tasted blood. It was a struggle to regain his bearings and he blinked futilely in an attempt to clear his vision. He could feel himself slipping, falling, falling . . .

  
“ _I’ll be watching_.”

  
Dipper started awake, bolting upright and glancing around wildly. Once his eyes adjusted, he found himself in front of the window, remembered the Splintercat and Wendy and retreating there to write in the journal before falling asleep. He winced at the pain in his nose, thinking he must have accidentally bumped it, and reached for where he’d dropped the ice pack. The ice wasn’t entirely melted so he figured he hadn’t been asleep for too long. He placed it gingerly on his face, letting the cold soothe him.

  
Dipper moved to stand, and when his leg nudged something on the floor, he realized what must have roused him from sleep. He knelt to examine the tray and the food placed on it, obviously prepared by Mabel if the stickers were any indication, various cute animals wishing for him to ‘feel better soon’. There was a plate with pancakes covered in strawberry syrup and a glass of water complete with a blue bendy straw so he could drink it without incident. Dipper smiled at the sight, and settled down again by the window with the tray in his lap.

He ate, intermittently using the ice pack when he felt he needed it, and slowly became aware of a nagging feeling of forgetfulness, like he’d meant to do something important but couldn’t recall what it was. The sensation only increased with his wakefulness, disrupting the relative peace he’d managed to achieve. Dipper caught himself staring into space more than once and finally gave up eating once the remaining food grew cold.

Even in the warmth of summer at midmorning, dust motes floating in the room around him, Dipper suppressed the urge to shiver. He felt colder, and more alone than he felt he should, the feeling a crushing weight on his chest that compelled him to gather his things and leave. He adjusted his hat, put away the journal, and placed the melting ice pack on the tray. Dipper picked up the tray and turned to leave, smiling fondly at the stickers left there for him. He would have to thank Mabel, maybe join in on whatever shenanigans she’d gotten up to. He could hide behind the counter and make faces at her if she was working.

  
His smile faded as the feeling of trepidation rose unbidden again, and Dipper hurried to make his way downstairs.

  
The circle in the center of the window was starting to look disturbingly like an eye.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so excited about posting my first Gravity Falls story. I've been working on it since August and it's taken a while but I've finally finished it and am satisfied with the outcome. Please feel free to leave any questions/comments here or on [my tumblr.](http://harlequinade-13.tumblr.com/)
> 
> A few notes:
> 
> 1\. The Splintercat is a real legend! I wanted something kind of obscure but also native to the Pacific Northwest, and this creature was perfect. It is not fond of lumberjacks.
> 
> 2\. I did some research on home-treatment for nose injuries for this story. I tried to keep it as accurate as possible but I encourage anyone who receives such an injury to seek medical treatment just in case.
> 
> 3\. Even before The Last Mabelcorn, I headcanoned Mabel being into ponies. The band-aids may or may not be Gravity Falls-esque MLP characters.


End file.
